One Hour
by niteryde
Summary: Vegeta makes good on his promise to take his eight-year-old son Trunks to the park for an hour. One shot.


**A/N: I don't own DBZ. I was walking past a park and thought of this short little fic. Hope you like. :)**

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Vegeta was leaning back against a tree, arms crossed, his fingers on his right hand drumming against his left bicep in annoyance. Caught completely unaware by his son's ability to make the legendary Super Saiyan transformation, he'd come up with the idea of taking Trunks to the park on the fly. Now he was sorely wishing he'd come up with something better. He was surrounded by sniveling brats who were all running around, some playing in the dirt like the little mongrels they were, some screaming for no good reason. He had forgotten how much he hated this place and honestly had no clue why Trunks loved coming here so much. He simply chalked it up to the boy being half-human.

For the third time since their arrival at the park, Vegeta reached down to check the cell phone Bulma forced him to carry around. It had only been seven minutes out of the guaranteed hour. He was half-tempted to ditch the boy and come pick him up later, but he felt a rare guilt in his chest over the punch he'd landed in Trunks' face. Sure, he sparred with the boy often, but he almost always held back. Instincts had taken over though and he'd struck Trunks hard earlier that day, and now he felt he owed it to the boy to stay with him.

He sighed and put the phone back in his pocket.

He really _was_ getting soft.

"Dad!" Trunks yelled, running over to his father with an excited grin on his face as he carried something in his hands. "Look what I found!"

Vegeta scowled at his son. "What the hell is that?"

The eight-year-old boy beamed as he raised his hands to his father, showing a gray rabbit that he'd caught. "Look, it's a bunny! It was hiding behind the bushes and it tried running away, but I caught it," he said, his tone proud.

Vegeta scanned the rabbit with disinterest before grunting. "Good for you, kid."

"Can I keep it? Please, Dad? Please?"

"Sure," Vegeta said casually, making Trunks' blue eyes widen in excitement.

"Really?" Trunks cried out in disbelief.

"Why not? It'll make for good dinner tonight," Vegeta said, cracking a smirk. Trunks' smile deflated at that as he lowered the rabbit in his hands. He scowled at Vegeta, who just snickered at him.

"Gross," Trunks mumbled in disgust, turning away and giving his father his back. He held up the rabbit to look at it and smiled. "Don't worry. I won't let him get near you," Trunks told the rabbit matter-of-factly.

"Animals don't speak, foolish boy," Vegeta informed his son, who rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I _know _that, Dad," Trunks said, lowering the rabbit to the grass. He let it go and watched as it ran away, before sighing again. "I really wanted to keep it," he said wistfully, as if hoping his father would have a change of heart.

"Yes, well, I really want to destroy this planet when your mother pisses me off. We don't always get what we want," Vegeta responded, pulling out his cell phone to check the time again. He then snapped it closed and looked at his son from behind. "You have 51 minutes left, brat. Better make them count."

Trunks crossed his arms over his chest, scanning over the park and the other kids playing. This admittedly wasn't as much fun without Goten with him, but his best friend was out somewhere with Gohan. He frowned and looked over to the side of the playground, where there was a huge lay of grass. There were some older kids there playing a soccer game, and Trunks suddenly grinned.

"Can I go play with them?" Trunks asked, looking back at his father and pointing.

Vegeta glanced over and observed the game in question. Trunks was getting into sports, but Vegeta had no idea why. In the prince's mind, the only worthwhile competition was on the battlefield, not swinging a stick at a ball or kicking a ball into a net or whatever other stupid crap humans did. Not to mention that with Trunks' super human speed and strength, it really was a waste of time for the boy to compete against humans.

Vegeta gave an indifferent shrug, before looking away.

"Whatever."

Trunks didn't need to hear anything else before he bolted over there. Vegeta pulled out his phone again to check the time and saw that he had a text message from the only person whose number was worth saving.

_How are my two handsome Super Saiyans doing? _

Vegeta blinked in surprise, before growling angrily as he sent his reply.

_You knew the boy made the ascension and you didn't tell me? Wench._

The response came less than ten seconds later.

_;)_

Vegeta was about to crush the phone to pieces when Trunks ran back to him. The boy came to a stop in front of his father, a deep and angry scowl on his face that made him almost the spitting image of the Saiyan prince.

"I don't want to play here anymore," Trunks announced sullenly, drawing Vegeta's attention. "Let's go home."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at him, pocketing his phone. The sudden change in the boy's demeanor made Vegeta hesitate on taking him up on the offer.

"Why?" Vegeta finally demanded, crossing his arms again. "You're always bitching whenever it's time to leave this place, so what's the problem now?"

Trunks hesitated, before shrugging. "Aw, it's nothing."

"Don't you lie to me, boy," Vegeta warned with a harsh glare.

Trunks immediately caved under that look. "Well, those guys just said that they don't play with little brats and they told me to get lost."

Vegeta's eye twitched in annoyance. No one called _his_ son a brat or told him to get lost (except him, of course). He looked back over at the older kids who looked to be teenagers.

"See that one in the red shirt?"

"Uh huh," Trunks said, looking at the biggest teenager of the group.

"Go pummel him until he can't stand. One blow should suffice. Then they'll let you play their stupid game."

Trunks was about to laugh until he saw that his father was dead serious. The boy blinked in surprise as he stared up at Vegeta.

"Uh…but Dad… Mom said I shouldn't pick fights with humans unless it's in a tournament or something," Trunks said warily. "She said it's not fair because I'm too strong."

"There is no _fairness _in battle, son. Only victory or defeat. Always remember that," Vegeta told him, looking the boy right in the eye to make sure he understood. Trunks nodded gravely, committing his father's words to memory. Vegeta then smirked, "Besides, your mother isn't here."

"Oh," Trunks said, frowning thoughtfully. "Well, alright, I guess. But if this gets out, I'm telling Mom this was _your_ idea."

Vegeta's smirk immediately disappeared. "You will do no such thing, boy," the prince snarled threateningly.

"Well I don't want to get in trouble!" Trunks cried out defensively. "She might not let me fight in the World Martial Arts Tournament!"

Vegeta closed his eyes, reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, before exhaling slowly. The boy made a good point, and Vegeta wanted to see Trunks beat Goten at the tournament, in front of Kakarot no less. It wasn't worth Trunks taking the risk.

He, on the other hand…

Trunks bit his bottom lip as he watched his father anxiously. Finally, Vegeta lowered his hand and pushed off from the tree.

"Fine, I'll take care of it then," Vegeta said, strolling over to the group of soccer players. Trunks followed him, practically on his heels the entire way.

"Aw you cheater, that was such a handball!" a lanky teenager with blond hair yelled.

"Oh whatever, you're seeing things man!"

"Whoa, what gives, dude?" a third teenager demanded, picking up the soccer ball as a short, flame haired man walked right onto their makeshift field, followed by the annoying little kid they'd just shooed away. "We're in the middle of...of…erm…" he stammered when Vegeta shot him an intense look that made him feel two feet tall.

"Who is in charge here?" Vegeta demanded angrily.

"Well, it's my ball," a tall teenager with shaggy hair and a bright green shirt said as he jogged over to see what's going on. He looked at Vegeta and frowned at him. The guy was built, but he was short and the teenager was sure he could take him down if necessary. He was on the varsity wrestling team after all.

Vegeta motioned with his head over to Trunks. "My son wants to play whatever the hell this stupid kick the ball game is."

"Soccer, Dad."

"Quiet, boy," Vegeta snapped at him, before looking back at the teenager in front of him. "Now you either allow him, or you will suffer serious consequences."

"Hey man, you can't just come in here and boss me around," the shaggy haired kid said angrily. "And we're not wasting our time on little kids. So both of you, get lost."

"Make me."

"I don't want to hurt you, little man-"

The teenager immediately fell to his knees when Vegeta delivered a swift kick to his crotch with speed the poor kid had no hope of stopping. Too late, he realized that poking fun at the Saiyan's height was a grave mistake. His face went beet red as Trunks winced, his hand going to his own crotch almost defensively. Vegeta strolled over to the now pale teenager who was holding the soccer ball, and stuck his hand out.

"Hand it over, or you'll get the same treatment, kid."

The teen handed over the soccer ball without any hesitation. Vegeta took it and tossed it back to Trunks, who easily caught it. The prince looked over at the teenager writhing in the grass and smirked.

"Should've let my son play. Now you've really lost all your balls," Vegeta quipped, putting a hand on Trunks' shoulder and steering the awed boy away as the teenagers all watched him in horror.

"You really showed him, Dad," Trunks said as he beamed proudly. Not only was his dad completely awesome, but he'd gotten a new soccer ball out of the whole thing. It wasn't as good as a pet rabbit, of course, but it was definitely something.

"Hn." Vegeta scowled and pulled out his cell phone to check the time. He gave a slow exhale through his nose when he saw that he'd only eaten up seven minutes of time. "You still have 44 minutes, brat," he said, almost dejected by how long this hour was taking.

"Oh... oh man, you hear that?" Trunks asked, his blue eyes widening. Vegeta looked down at him.

"Hear what?"

"That's an ice cream truck! Oh can we get some ice cream? Please, Dad, please, plea-"

"Fine, whatever, just shut the hell up, boy," Vegeta snapped. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out some bills, before handing them to Trunks. "Go, and bring me something back as well."

Trunks hollered in happiness, snatched the bills, then threw the soccer ball hard into Vegeta's chest before the prince could blink. Vegeta grunted as the air was knocked right out of him while he caught the ball. He glared at his son from behind as the boy took off running, reminded of why he'd never wanted children in the first place.

A few minutes later, the ice cream truck finally rolled over to the park. Vegeta was back at his spot against the tree, watching in complete disgust as all the kids ran over to the ice cream truck like rodents. Trunks was at the very front, having easily shoved and elbowed his way up there. Vegeta sighed and crossed his arms, the soccer ball at his feet. He leaned his head back against the tree and scowled, his mind going to the upcoming tournament. _Finally, _after all this time, he was going to get his shot at Kakarot. It was a fight that was much overdue.

The prince was going over strategy silently when Trunks finally came up to him.

"Here, Dad. I got you strawberry."

Vegeta opened his eyes and looked at the triple scooped ice cream cone his son was extending him. He glared at the pink ice cream before shifting his dark gaze to his only son.

"When have you ever seen me eat strawberry ice cream, boy?" Vegeta demanded.

"Oh, well, do you want mine? I got mint chocolate chip," Trunks offered. Vegeta looked at the bright green ice cream, before deciding he wasn't eating anything that was green. He hissed in agitation and then snatched the strawberry ice cream cone out of Trunks' hand, mumbling curses under his breath about Earth and its ridiculous food.

Father and son both sat down crosslegged in the grass under the shade of the tree, eating their respective ice creams. Vegeta was secretly pleased that his strawberry ice cream was actually pretty good, though like hell he'd ever admit it. Trunks licked up some of his ice cream, before frowning. His blue eyes grew a little distant as he fell into his thoughts. Finally, he tossed the rest of his cone into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and then looked over at his father.

"Dad?"

"Hn?" Vegeta grunted, tossing the last of the ice cream cone into his mouth.

"Can I have a brother?"

Vegeta choked. His face turning red, he hit his chest with a fist as he hacked and coughed, tears coming to his eyes. He blinked a few times, before looking over at his son.

"What?"

"You know, a brother. I want a brother. Goten has Gohan to play with when we're not hanging out. I want someone too."

"You spend enough time with Kakarot's spawn, and the boy spends enough time at our home," Vegeta told him with a scowl. The boys were close to inseparable, and that meant he'd had to put up with his rival's son constantly being in his home for years. Between Goten and Trunks, he was surprised he hadn't killed one or both of them by now for all the bullshit they got into. "He might as well be your brother."

Trunks scowled at his father. "But it's not the same."

"Tough shit, kid. Goten is the closest you're going to get. You're not getting a real brother."

"But why? I'm sure we can afford it," Trunks pressed.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow curiously. "Afford it?"

"Yeah, like when you buy babies at the hospital. Goten said that his mom told him that's where babies come from. You buy them at the hospital."

Vegeta's eye twitched. He was horribly disgusted that his son's knowledge was so inaccurate, but he was _not _in the mood to have the actual discussion with the boy right now. Or ever, for that matter. Bulma could definitely handle this one.

"Well, son. I think you should have this discussion with your mother. She handles our... baby finances..." Vegeta said, his face turning red from how stupid he sounded.

"Oh! So if I get her to say yes then-"

"How about some more ice cream?" Vegeta interjected, nearly throwing more bills into Trunks' face. "Go."

That's all Trunks needed to hear.

Twenty minutes later, Trunks was on a purposely father-induced sugar high. Vegeta watched him and checked his phone. Only 10 minutes left and then they could finally go back home. He looked back up to see Trunks throwing the swings as hard as he could, making them spin round and round until they got stuck up at the top. Then the boy would climb up to the top, unwind the swings, and do it again to the amazement of the other kids watching. He watched Trunks play, and was struck by the knowledge that the boy had already made the ascension at such a young age. Even Future Trunks hadn't made it so early. It was phenomenal, the more he thought about it. He smirked a little, pride filling his chest for his son.

Finally, the ten minutes were up.

"Trunks!" Vegeta yelled. Trunks instantly hopped off the top of the swings to the ground, landing on his feet before dashing after his father who was waiting for him with his soccer ball.

"Aw, already?" Trunks whined as Vegeta tossed him the soccer ball back.

"I said one hour, and I meant one hour, brat," Vegeta told him, turning and walking away while Trunks followed after him. They walked in silence for a while.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Hn?"

"Can we get back to sparring once we get home?"

Vegeta looked over at him and scowled. "You couldn't handle the blow I landed earlier, boy."

"Yeah, but I really want to do good in this tournament."

"You want to do well."

"Right, I want to do well. I want to beat Goten if I have to face him," Trunks said, his features setting into a fierce determination that Vegeta recognized all too well. "I can take it. I'll show you."

Vegeta couldn't help but smirk as he turned away from him.

"Very well. I'll show you how to use your Super Saiyan powers so you can beat the little whelp. When we get home, we'll see what you've got, boy."

Trunks beamed. He was going to do just that.

He was going to make his dad proud.

**End**


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